


'sorry you didn't get to kill anyone' cookies

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - No Hydra Takeover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Ward just might be a complete idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'sorry you didn't get to kill anyone' cookies

"I think I might be having a stroke," Skye says as she trudges up the cargo ramp.

Grant only rolls his eyes at her statement and the squeaking of her tennis shoes against the metal plates. She's been complaining like this for the last two miles.

"Seriously," she says, "isn't smelling weird smells a sign of a stroke?"

"Probably an experiment gone wrong," Grant says, gesturing to the open lab doors. It hits him as he says it, the sweet, stomach-twisting smell of sugar and butter and flour all mixed together and heated to perfection. His mouth waters.

"Ha! You smell it too!" Skye points at him, her finger so close to his face he could- well, he doesn't dwell on the things he could do because it's kind of the opposite of the smell currently teasing his taste buds, but he  _will_  be lecturing Skye on appropriate safe distance tomorrow.

"Go get cleaned up," he orders.

She scoffs -  _loudly_  - and darts up the stairs. And to think just minutes ago she was claiming her legs were about to fall off.

He follows more slowly after her despite his stomach's urging. There's no telling if whatever concoction awaits upstairs is even edible - and given some of the people on the Bus, he seriously doubts that it is - and besides, he can't let Skye see him racing upstairs looking for a sugar high.

All this means by the time he gets up there, Skye is pretty securely settled at the bar with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk. Trip is similarly situated beside her, but his plate is much less full.

"Hi, Ward," she says through a bite of cookie. She hastily swallows it - probably more for fear of losing crumbs than because she's being completely disgusting - and says, "Look what Simmons made!"

Simmons, who's busy scraping a fresh batch onto a half-filled wire rack, shoots Skye a frown. "Those cookies are for Agent Triplett. He's just come off a very stressful mission and managed not to kill a very bad man who will hopefully give SHIELD all sorts of useful intel. They are  _not_  for just anyone."

"It's fine," Trip says, waving Simmons' protests away. "Not like I can eat all of 'em anyway. Besides, they're too good not to share."

Simmons blushes beneath the flour staining her cheeks and begins rounding out dough.

Knowing there's no way he'll be allowed to steal a cookie from the others - he  _could_  steal from Skye if he really wanted but Trip would definitely stop him and probably turn it into a sparring match - Grant heads for Simmons in the kitchen. He snags one of the freshest cookies and has to take a bite quick before it collapses. It burns just a little, just enough that the sugar is like a balm, and he  _hmmms_  in pleasure as he bites through a walnut. He watches Simmons work while he savors but she never looks at him, just keeps her head bowed like she's completely absorbed in her task.

"So," he says, licking his fingers, "why don't I get cookies when I keep my homicidal urges inside?"

"What?" Simmons asks, looking up at him sharply. The dough ball she was forming squishes between her fingers and her cheeks flame as she works to get it all back into the bowl.

"Oh!" Skye yells. "I know! I know!" She waves her arm like a know-it-all in school. The gesture doesn't last long though, since her other hand is holding her milk and she apparently can't live too long without a cookie in her mouth. Before she can take a bite, Trip kicks her feet off the barstool rung and gives her a swift shake of the head.

The oven timer dings and Simmons begins shuffling the cookie sheets.

"I didn't know you liked them," she says.

Ever since the whole Sitwell incident came to light, Grant's been coaching Simmons - when he's not busy with Skye's training of course. She's one of SHIELD's top minds and she's in the field now, which puts her at greater risk of capture. It's Grant's job to make sure that doesn't happen, but it's also his job to make sure that, if it does, she doesn't spill all their secrets because she's incapable of distracting the enemy for however long it takes Grant to find her and kill them. So she's not  _as bad_  a liar as she was when she was reduced to shooting a superior officer, but she's still probably the worst liar Grant knows. And she is definitely lying now. Grant's pretty sure he knows what it's about though.

"Who doesn't like cookies?" Skye asks a little too loudly.

Again, Trip shushes her, this time with a kill motion across his throat. It's not the sort of gesture that should be ignored when coming from a trained specialist, especially one who didn't get to kill the bad guy on his last mission, but Skye seems oblivious.

Simmons is very unnecessarily fussing over the exact angle of the newly removed baking sheets, her cheeks so red the flour stands out starkly against them. Grant leans across the island to wipe some away with his thumb and Simmons goes abruptly still.

"Hey," he says, keeping his voice low enough that even if Trip and Skye weren't currently in a juvenile argument they wouldn't hear him. He waits until Simmons brings her eyes up to meet his to tilt his head towards the idiots at the bar. "Why don't you just tell him you like him?"

The color fades swiftly from her cheeks and something in her eyes shifts - it's similar to the way an enemy's eyes tell him when they've made the decision to try to kill him. Not that he's afraid Simmons is going to kill him but there's something deeply unsettling about the look she's wearing now.

"You think-? And I-?" she sputters and then lets out a frustrated huff, throws up her arms, and marches out of the kitchen and down the stairs, leaving stunned silence behind her.

Three seconds - Grant knows because he can see the timer going on the abandoned batch of cookies - that's all that passes before Skye yells, "What did you  _do?_ "

* * *

After only a little bit of avoidance, Grant  _does_  tell them. It's not like it isn't  _completely obvious_  that Simmons has a crush on Trip and, really, the guy should have the decency to either step up or let her down already.

Personally Grant votes for the latter. Trip's a stand-up guy, no doubt about that, but he's also a solo specialist. That means missions ranging from only a few hours to months on end, all with a complete blackout on communication. That's no way to keep a relationship going. Besides, the Bus isn't exactly stable either. There's no telling when or where they'll be, which would make it hard enough dating someone with a normal, non-moving home, but coordinating time with a guy who's just as mobile and unpredictable? It'd be almost impossible.

Just the idea of them trying makes Grant's stomach knot. It's a sneak preview of the way any relationship between the two of them would tear him apart. He'd have to be Trip's friend about it all, listening to his side of things, but  _he'd_  be the one who had to stick around and watch Simmons worry all the time. She'd be good about it, try not to talk to him about it for fear of putting him in the middle of something, and that would honestly make it worse. He doesn't want her hiding things from him - not that she'd be able to pull it off, but still.

So when Grant tells Trip what Trip should already know, he does so in hopes that these cookies will turn from "sorry you didn't get to kill anyone" cookies into "sorry the guy you like doesn't like you back" cookies.

He's honestly not expecting the reaction he gets.

"You," Skye says sternly while beside her Trip shakes his head in slow disappointment, "are a complete idiot."

Grant, like most people, doesn't like being called stupid, but unlike most people he knows at least a dozen ways to kill Skye without moving more than six inches in any direction, so he knows better than to let his anger get the better of him. Besides, he can make her pay for it with push-ups tomorrow.

"What?" he asks, voice carefully controlled.

"Sim-mons," Skye says like he's especially slow, "doesn't make cookies for _you_ because she knows _you_ would like them."

There's not much Grant can do in the face of such completely hair-brained logic except eat another cookie.

"That's insane," he says.

"Of  _course_  it's insane," Trip says. "Don't you remember Coburn's lesson on female marksmanship?"

Skye's superior expression drops away, replaced by confusion. "What does this have to do with women using guns?"

But Grant gets it. Female marksmanship was a topic in Professor Coburn's course on one-on-one cove-ops, the work done by an individual agent to turn or use an individual - in this case a female individual. The topic was one lesson and amounted to the professor illuminating a single slide printed with only one line and putting her heels up on the desk before taking questions on the statement: "Bitches be crazy." (Her lesson on male marksmanship was exactly the same, but with a different noun.)

Grant is all ready to ask how the hell that translates to Simmons liking  _him_ , but years of Academy training and a stellar career in field work are too quick for him. His brain is already lining up all the facts as if it's been keeping them neatly filed away for the moment he finally decided to look at things rationally.

Simmons sitting next to him - but never on the same couch as him - on game night.

Simmons always changing out of the clothes she wore that day in the lab before their lessons on lying.

The way she lingers too long over his injuries, double- and triple-checking her patch work.

The feel of eyes watching him from the lab during his early morning work-outs.

And of course his own lesson on avoiding situations in which she might risk giving too much of her genuine emotions away.

Situations like making cookies for the person she really wants to make cookies for apparently.

"Oh crap," he says and grabs another cookie.

"Oh  _yeah_ ," Skye says.

Trip comes over to pat him on the shoulder - and to refill his own plate - and says, "Just a friendly reminder, when you said  _I_  needed to put Simmons out of her misery one way or the other…"

"I'm the one who has to," Grant says heavily.

"Yep."

The oven timer dings again and Trip pushes Grant towards the stairs on his way around the island to get the cookies out in Simmons' absence.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Skye calls at Grant's back.

He is  _definitely_  making her do extra push-ups tomorrow.

It doesn't escape his notice that Skye's punishment is far and away from the thing he  _should_  be thinking about right now. As he descends the steps, he carefully puts his thoughts in order. Unfortunately, where his brain was ready and waiting with proof of Simmons' feelings for him, it's less helpful on how to deal with letting her down. All his training means he knows how to get someone to fall in love with him, but usually when he ends a relationship it's by abandoning that persona and heading home. That's probably not gonna work here.

Skye's earlier accusation comes back to him, the "you are an idiot" echoing through his brain so that he stalls on the bottom step.

He's  _going_  to let her down, isn't he? If Trip can't date her, Grant certainly can't.

Except all of his reasons for Trip involved the distance, which isn't really an issue when they live on the same plane.

He shakes his head. No, he's gotta let her down easy. She'll understand.

But just  _what_  she'll understand still escapes him as he catches sight of her and Fitz puttering around the lab together. Simmons is puttering anyway, Fitz is staring at her like he's hoping she won't notice him if he stays perfectly still.

Grant decides now might not be the best time and veers off towards the punching bag. It takes him three tries to get his hands wrapped properly and by the time he does, he's reasoned that a relationship on the same assignment is  _worse_  than one on different assignments. It'll put the others in exactly the position Grant was afraid of being put in himself.

_And the frat regs,_ he thinks as he begins warming up.  _Of_ course  _the frat regs._ The completely reasonable and binding rules that prevent anything from happening between him and Simmons.

The same ones that get ignored daily with only minor slaps on the wrist for offending agents and reminders that it better not interfere with their work.

Those frat regs.

Grant groans and adds some footwork to his routine. This is not going the way it's supposed to. She's supposed to like  _Trip_. Nice, normal (relatively speaking), perpetually unavailable Trip. Trip with the smile and the corny lines. Grant is _not_ nice and he is definitely _not_ normal by any measurement. He's got a list of issues that starts with watching his baby brother die and ends with his choice of a career that should, in theory, prevent him from ever forming any meaningful relationships.

He drops his hands to his sides with a sigh and turns towards the lab. He'll just have to tell her the truth, that he doesn't want a relationship with anyone at all. Ever. At least it's not some weak line about how he's "just not that into her."

Fitz disappeared at some point, which Grant is grateful for. Maybe Skye called him away to give Grant some space, in which case he'll have to cut her punishment push-ups in half. Regardless, Fitz is gone and there's nothing to keep Grant from talking to Simmons.

"Hey," he says as he steps through the doors.

She barely glances up at him before doubling her work speed. He's not sure what, exactly, she's working on but it seems to involve moving a lot of equipment from one drawer to another and back again.

"We should talk."

"Oh,  _Lord_ ," Simmons moans, dropping her hands to the lab table and leaning heavily on them. "Can we please not?" she asks, managing to look at him from the corner of her eye. "It's all going so well with you being uncharacteristically blind and me living in quiet denial. Can't we just carry on?"

That would actually be fantastic if it weren't for the tiny problem of Grant's conscience. Much as he'd like to put on a mask and lie around Simmons to save her pride - and he definitely could - it wouldn't be fair to her.

"Listen," he says, stepping deeper into the lab. He plans on laying it all out, on reminding her of what little she knows about his childhood and on telling her just why he chose this career, only he can't seem to get the air to leave his lungs.

He hears Skye's voice again, louder this time, and his brain opens up yet another file of carefully recorded information. This time it's not about Simmons, it's about  _him_.

Him complaining when their last mission grounded them and forced him to see an actual SHIELD doctor instead of Simmons.

Him scheduling their lessons for times when they're least likely to be interrupted by the others.

Helping her prank Fitz.

Staying up with her during a Doctor Who marathon so she didn't have to watch the scary episodes alone.

The way it felt to have her pressed into his side when they weren't being shot at and how he held her closer.

And, most damningly, that none of his arguments against dating Simmons were as simple as him not wanting to. Because, he realizes, he  _does_  want to. A lot.

"You don't have to say anything," Simmons says, turning away.

He's been quiet too long and she's trying to let him off the hook - just when he's realized he  _wants_  to be on the hook.

"No," he says. He moves fast, specialist skills taking over without conscious thought. He closes the distance between them on silent feet and grabs her arm to stop her escaping further.

She spins, stares at him with wide eyes, and he realizes he may have said that a little more forcefully than he meant. He carefully releases his hold on her arm.

"What I said before, about just telling Trip-"

"Oh no," she groans. This time she puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Which is kind of adorable. How did he not realize how adorable she is before?

"I was really hoping he'd shoot you down."

He can see her shoulders tense at the statement and slowly she lifts her face from her hands, but only to stare at the far wall of the lab.

"Oh?" she says softly.

"Yeah. I don't want you dating him."

"And why is that?"

He shrugs. "Stupid reasons. I don't want to have to listen to him talk about you like that."

There's a smile playing at the edges of her mouth as she turns her face towards him. "Why not?"

He bends down so his face casts hers in shadow. "Because  _I_ want to be the one who talks about you like that."

"Oh," she says softly, her voice oddly distant. That might have something to do with the way her gaze has dropped to his lips.

There's really only one way to answer that of course. When he kisses her, he tastes sugar and chocolate.

The cookies have all gone cold by the time they make it back upstairs, but neither of them mind.


End file.
